Well Oiled Machine
by Tezelshmack
Summary: In the aftermath of an unfortunate hunt, Sam must place his trust in a stranger as he helps pull Dean back from the brink that the poison drives him to- without slipping over it himself. Brotherly shmoop abounds, as well as bonding with a couple new friends.
1. Chapter 1

AHHHH here goes. This will be just a fairly simple h/c type of story, unless I can pull together a more complex idea I have for it.

WARNING: I know this usually doesn't go over very well (I have issues with it too!) but there is rather mild self-insertion into this story. Basically, I've taken all of my "cool" and given it to this character. So she's really not me, just... _based_off of me. :) I chose the last name for her because it's a fairly common name in the area this story is supposed to take place.

So... disclaimers I guess?

Supernatural and everything having to do with it belongs to Kripke, etc. etc. I take no credit, except for the weaving of this story!

Also! I know I have read a story with a very similar creature-feature (although mine is SEVERELY underdeveloped) and I just want to make sure no one thinks I am copying it, because I can't remember what story it even was (although it was brilliant) and if I could I would refer you to it! Cheers!

*I^I*

"Dean! Dean, hang in there man!" Sam's own frantic voice rang in his buzzing ears as he spared a glance across the Impala to where his brother was curled in the passenger side. It seemed he had stopped hyperventilating, which actually worried Sam a little, and he was now reduced to uncontrollable tremors that made Sam think of a seizure. The thought caused him to only press his foot harder on the gas pedal, despite his clouded vision.

The pale April light was fading fast, the sun quickly sinking behind the pine crowded mountains that rose above the winding road he was following. They were in podunk north Idaho, with the intention of hunting something so obscure that Sam's currently muddled brain couldn't even remember the name of it. They had ganked the bastard, that's for sure, but whatever it was had done its fair share of damage too, mostly in the form of short, poison filled quills, much like those of a porcupine. Sam could feel several still lodged in the back of his neck, just under his hairline, and he knew there were a couple more peppered down his side. Despite the fact that he could distinctly feel the poison slowly working its way into his system, his concern for himself was by far outweighed by his concern for Dean. His brother had taken some rough hits, and it wasn't until the threat had passed –or, been hacked to pieces roughly the size of individual steaks, as the case were- and they faced each other, panting and flushed from adrenaline, that Sam had noticed the dozens of spines lodged in Dean's stomach and chest. He had pointed wordlessly, still gasping, his face horrified, and Dean had looked down at himself, just having time to splutter, "_Sonuvabitch,_" before his knees gave out on him and he hit the ground hard, twitching and writhing. Sam had dropped to his knees beside him, just in time to see his eyes roll back in his head as his spine arched, bucking his chest upwards. That, coupled with his rapidly quickening breath, had finally clued Sam in that his brother was going into shock.

Sparing his attention from the road for another moment to check on Dean, Sam cursed himself again for not moving faster. It had been no easy task maneuvering Dean's still bucking form into the Impala, which had been parked mercifully close at the time, and despite the _very_ small voice in his head that assured him he'd done the best he could, he still felt at least partially responsible for Dean's current state. He should have fought harder, faster. He should have done enough damn research, so they would have known how dangerous those spines were. He should have at least made sure they had a motel room set up to go back to, whether things went to hell or not. He should have-

"Oh _god…_" his racing thoughts got the better of him and it came out in a strangled moan as he shoved the gas pedal to the floor and squinted his eyes against the spots of darkness clouding his vision. They didn't even have a place to go to so Sam could fix Dean up, and he had no idea where the nearest motel (or hell, even town) was. He looked over at Dean again, whose breathing was starting to quicken again, and allowed himself to consider a hospital for about four seconds before shaking his head adamantly, the movement whipping a lock of brunette hair across his forehead. No hospital. The only thing they would be able to chalk Dean's injuries up to would be a freaking porcupine from hell or something. Sam could practically hear Dean saying that, in his comical, sarcastic way, and he almost choked on a sob as Dean started bucking and kicking again, his feet skidding against the floorboards of the car. They were still in the relative middle of nowhere, and with nothing but what might have been a farmhouse in the near distance, Sam slammed on the brakes, put the Impala in park, and reached to try and restrain Dean, knowing that movement only made the poison spread faster.

"Hey, hey, hey," He said, raising his voice over Dean's ragged breathing. "Calm down, man. Come on…" Despite the shaking in his own limbs, Sam held his brother's shoulders back, and practically crawling onto the seat next to him, he grabbed his head and cradled it firmly to his chest. The last thing Dean needed was whiplash added to his list of injuries. As he sat there, waiting for his brother's fit to subside, panic washed over Sam again. He looked out the windows, trying to make sense in the dim light, and realized they had left the mountains and were in a relatively flat area, almost prairie-like. And, oh yeah, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except… Sam squinted and blinked. He had noticed it moments before, but not given it much thought. There was a farmhouse a ways away, maybe if he could reach that…

The sudden sound of someone (or something) rapping on the Impala window wrenched Sam from his thoughts, nearly giving him a heart attack. Dean had stopped kicking and was reduced to just tremors again, so Sam carefully laid him back on the seat, and stayed leaning over him protectively while he craned his neck around to see who (or what) was at the window. He almost cried with relief when, in the gloom, he saw not a police officer (or worse), but instead a young woman wearing a concerned expression. Sliding back into the driver seat, he fumbled with the window a moment before cranking it down and looking at her almost in disbelief.

"You guys okay?" She asked over the Impala's growl, her eyes shifting to Dean's trembling form.  
"No," Sam gasped automatically, blinking rapidly again, and then swiftly corrected himself. "Yes, I mean. Yeah, we're fine. I'm fine, he's fine, and it's all good. All fine. Good and fine."

"You were fishtailing all over the road, pal," she told him a little flatly, interrupting his rambling with her rapid-fire words. "_And_ going about fifty over… clearly you ain't in no state to drive, I'm guessing you got nowhere to go, and don't even _bother_ trying to convince yourself that I can't see all those spines in your friend over there. Did you kill it?"

Sam's already fuzzy brain was even more so now, and he looked at Dean, then back to the woman, bewildered. "Kill… Kill what?"

"Oh, come _on…_" she groaned long-sufferingly, tilting her head back and gripping the edge of the door with smallish, capable looking hands. "Look man, I don't know _who_ you are, but I know _what_ you guys are. I always say it takes one to know one, right?"

Sam just looked at her, his confusion registering in his forehead.

"You're hunters," she said simply. "So am I. Now, did you kill it?"

Sam looked up into her earnest face, reminded himself that Ruby's knife was still tucked into his belt, and said, "Yes."

"Good!" She answered, and smacked the edge of the door with her palm. "Now that I know you're not followed." He looked at her questioningly again, and she continued. "Look, unless you want to try and find someplace safe by _yourself_, I strongly suggest you budge your undoubtedly sweet ass over, hang onto your friend, and let me drive you to my place so we can take care of him."

Sam looked to where she was pointing and nodded vaguely as the farmhouse came into view. "Okay…" he said, still unsure.

"Come on, man! You really don't have that much time!" She told him when he was silent for a few moments. "It's gonna be bad enough already, but the longer those quills stay in him…" She trailed off as Sam dropped his head into his hands and let out a poorly suppressed groan. She watched him dig the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment before speaking up with a snap of her fingers. "Holy water, do you have any?"

Even in his muddled state, Sam could see the logic instantly, and leaning over to Dean he carefully extracted the flask from the inner pocket of his brother's jacket. He passed it out to the woman, who swiftly uncapped it and took a quick pull before calmly handing it back. "There," she said, and then quirked her mouth. "Was there also whiskey in that?"

Sam didn't bother answering as he slid across the bench seat to make room for her and carefully put a long arm around Dean's shoulders, pressing his brother's head against his chest again. "Hang in there, man," he said again, keeping his voice soft as the woman plopped her small frame into the driver seat, slammed the door, and shifted back into drive. "It's gonna be alright, I got you…"

As she lurched the Impala back onto the road with a speed to rival Sam's, the woman glanced over at them with a concerned look. "He's your brother, isn't he?" She asked, returning her attention to the road.

Sam gave her a strange look. "Yeah," he said carefully. "How-?"

She shrugged and gave a small smile. "When you're as close to your siblings as you and I clearly are, you can usually recognize that special bond right away…"

Sam just looked at her, not loosening his grip on Dean for a second, and she glanced up at him again. "I have two older sisters," she explained, and with a confident spin of the steering wheel she turned the car into her driveway and ground to a stop outside a small farmhouse that, even in the fading light, Sam could tell was painted butter yellow.

"Home sweet home," she said, pulling the keys from the ignition and stepping out of the car. "Tell me what you need from the trunk and I'll get it. You get your brother."

Sam's vision blacked out completely for the first time right after he opened the passenger door and was crouching down to pull Dean from the car. He lurched in shock, his breath suddenly stolen from him as he allowed his head to fall against his comatose brother's side. The leather squeaked gently under his fingertips as he grasped a handful of Dean's jacket and inhaled sharply through his nose, the reassuring scent of _big-brother-right-here-everything-will-be-okay_ flooding his senses for a moment. The slamming of the trunk grounded him then, and he straightened up, shaking his head slightly as his vision cleared again. _God, that was awful. _Swallowing the familiar, bitter taste of fear in the back of his throat, Sam carefully gathered Dean into his arms again, and slowly stood, his limbs shaking under the weight of his normally very formidable brother. The girl was waiting on the front porch of her small house; their duffel bags slung over one shoulder, her fingers deftly unlocking the door as she intently watched Sam's progress. She didn't bother with talking, just swung the door open and reached inside to flip the switch that turned several glowing lamps on in the front room. Sam shifted Dean in his arms, his brother's head bumping his chin softly, and followed the girl inside, not even noticing his surroundings as she led him through the house and into a small, simple bedroom. She dropped their bags on the floor at the foot of the bed and gestured to the bed itself as she stripped her flannel over-shirt off and shoved her t-shirt sleeves up past her elbows.

"Put him there," she ordered, not unkindly. "Don't worry about blood; I've dealt with it plenty."

"There actually isn't much- yet," Sam told her, carefully laying Dean onto the bed. His head lolled to the side, and Sam could only detect the spasms when he pressed his hand to his chest. "I suspect there might be when we take those out…" he angled a slightly shaking finger at the blunt ends of the spines protruding from Dean's chest.

She didn't answer, but just turned and left the room with a brisk, swinging gait that Sam knew Dean would have appreciated quite a lot. He quirked his mouth a little and looked down at his brother's still face. "You're corrupting me, man."

Working Dean's heavy jacket off of his dead-weight form was no easy task, but it was one that Sam had accomplished countless times, and thus didn't present much of a problem. His shirts underneath, however, were a different story, considering the dozens of spines that were pinning them to his torso. "Sorry, dude," Sam told him as he got what he imagined Dean would consider 'definitely too up close and personal' with his brother, manhandling his flannel shirt off, and then carefully sliding his t-shirt up his sweat-slicked torso and over the quills. "I just know how much you love being felt up by your own brother…" He finally managed to pull the torn, blood-soaked fabric over Dean's head, and as he tossed it on the floor with Dean's other clothes, his vision blacked out again, the suddenness almost knocking the breath out of him. A slight tremor ran through him as he closed his eyes tightly, and his legs gave out, sending him to his knees beside the bed. _God, he felt so scared._ He couldn't shake the feeling. It was cutting off his air supply, constricting his throat, and the only thing he could think to do was get close enough to his brother to feel him, to be able to smell him, because _dammit that wasn't creepy at all._ When he opened his eyes for a moment and still could only see the cloistering blackness, he decided he didn't give a damn and half threw himself onto the bed, pressing his face into Dean's ribs. He could feel his brother trembling, muscles twitching uncontrollably in random spasms, and for a moment it only added to Sam's panic before he regained control of his senses. Forsaking the thought of actually breathing through his mouth, he managed to draw a few deep breaths in through his nose, the mixture of scents that made Dean flooding over him again. Adrenaline spiked sweat, strong enough to make Sam gag a little, but then it was tempered with the spicy tang of gunpowder, a tiny trace of Old Spice, and an unexpected soft smell that Sam realized was usually overpowered by leather or canvas. Focusing on that, he could only place it as either laundry soap, or just… Dean. Either way, he was grounded almost immediately, and he stilled then, waiting for the darkness to pass.

By the time the girl returned, carrying several towels, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a steaming kettle, he had mostly recovered and had forced himself to pull away from Dean and sit back up, although he had accidentally let out a tiny noise somewhere between a giggle and a sob when his hair had stuck to the sweat coating his brother's skin. He looked up at her, across the bed, and was able to actually take her in for the first time. She was small-framed, willowy but strong, and had ash blond hair cut into a style that Sam could only really call punk. _Or maybe hipster, _he thought, barely able to suppress a slightly hysterical snort. It was short, almost shaved, around the sides and back, and longer on top, falling gracefully over boldly arched brows and pale green eyes. Pale green eyes that, he quickly noticed, were firmly trained on Dean. Taking special note, no doubt, of his half-clothed state and undeniably supple frame. She still didn't speak, and Sam took her prolonged moment of silence to only slightly unabashedly take in the delicate, rune-like tattoos lining her partially exposed collarbone, and the way her well-fitting clothes hugged her subtle curves pleasantly. _Seeing as Dean can't at the moment…_

She spoke then, breaking the moment and making Sam suddenly feel a little embarrassed at his boldness, however sly it had been.

"What?" He asked, his forehead wrinkling a little as slight heat crept along the back of his neck.

"What's your name?" She repeated as she turned her gaze to him now, her eyes roaming over him in a way that made him hyper-aware rather than uncomfortable.

"Sam," he said simply, and flicked his glance back to Dean, who was starting to put out a little more movement than before. "This ass-hole is Dean." There was little to no malice in his voice, however, and it was with unmistakable gentleness that he reached to lay a large hand on Dean's uninjured shoulder, holding him steady as his limbs began to thrash a little.

That seemed to snap the girl out of her thoughtful reverie, and she moved quickly, setting the things she held aside and gently taking Dean's head in her small hands, turning it on its side again to keep his airways clear. "Nice to meet you Sam," she said in her quiet, slightly lower voice. She tilted her head sideways then to look at Dean's sweaty, mud-streaked face. "You too, ass-hole. I'm Mandy, by the way," she added, turning back to Sam and offering a simple smile. "Mandy Renner."

Sam was unable to keep a small smile from creeping onto his face as well, especially after how she had addressed Dean, but he managed to swallow the foolish grin that would no doubt make him look like a heartless psychopath at the side of his mortally wounded brother. "Okay," he breathed, focusing on Dean again. "I guess, we need to…."

"Get the quills out," Mandy finished for him, pulling a small pair of wire-cutters out of the back pocket of her jeans. "Which I just so happen to have experience with."

_Thank god. _"Really," Sam stated, raising his eyebrows just a little. "You know someone who's had a go at that spiked bastard?"

She looked down at the pliers in her hand and stuck her lower lip out in a contrived pout. "We get lots of porcupines around here…" she muttered. "Neighbors have freakishly idiotic dogs and someone got it into their head that I wasn't squeamish about things like that and therefore was the only person to turn to." She flashed another quick smile at the end of her explanation. "I reckon most quills are the same."

"Let me guess," Sam said, wrestling himself out of his jacket and being painfully reminded of the several quills still stuck in his own body. "Cut off the tip, and it releases the barb holding them in?"

"That's the idea," she mused, kneeling by the bed to get a closer look at the damage. "Although… if you pinch the quills at all it will only forcefully inject all of the poison. At this point he's only getting a small dose… steady though, like a morphine drip."

Sam let out a soft snort. "Yeah, if he was awake right now he'd probably sell me out for some morphine." He watched the shuddering motion of Dean's limbs slow once more, and only when they were completely still did he force himself to painfully rise from his position on the floor. "Alright," he said, letting out a slightly pent-up breath as he pushed his sleeves up. "Let's do this, then."

Mandy had fallen silent, and as he joined her on the left side of the bed he realized that she was unmoving, just staring at Dean's chest with an almost stricken look on her face. "Mandy?" He tentatively crouched next to her, apparently not seeing what had her so stunned. "Talk to me," he demanded, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice and failing a little.

"It- it's the poison," she fumbled, snapping out of it, and turning large eyes to Sam. "It's all been drained out of the spines. All of them. It's-"

"In Dean," Sam finished bleakly.

TBC

*I^I*

Gosh, well there's that... if I get even so much as ONE review or favorite, I will post a second chapter within two days. AND THAT'S A PROMISE.


	2. Chapter 2

OH MY GOSH. The fact that I got ANY response to this at all had me literally giddy with excitement! Thank you so much for the follows, favs, and REVIEW (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE). I am pretty proud of this next chapter, even though I churned it out obscenely fast!

*I^I*

**Previously:**"Talk_to me," he demanded, trying to keep his impatience out of his voice and failing a little._

_"__It- it's the poison," she fumbled, snapping out of it, and turning large eyes to Sam. "It's all been drained out of the spines. All of them. It's-"_

"In Dean," Sam finished bleakly, and suddenly felt like he was reeling back, the gravity of the situation slamming into him like a wave of nausea, making his head spin. He dropped to his knees again, sitting back on his heels, and just stared at Dean helplessly. "What," he began, and then had to stop for fear his voice would crack. After a moment he tried again. "What the hell do we do?"

"Well," Mandy said slowly, treading carefully as though she sensed Sam's internal breakdown. "We work fast, get the quills out, and…" She looked at Dean's face again, taking in his youth, obvious vitality, and somehow the inherent knowledge that the gangly, long-haired man next to her was the most important thing to him in the whole world. "And we wait for the poison to work its way out of his system," she finished firmly. "It almost always does, and though it won't be pleasant by a long shot, something tells me your brother has enough in him to kick this in the ass. Despite his current state as a ragdoll," she added.

"A damn heavy ragdoll," Sam muttered, self-consciously dragging his forearm across his slightly reddened eyes.

"A pretty cute ragdoll," Mandy countered, and gave him a quick grin before turning back to Dean.

Once they settled into a routine, they worked in relative silence. Mandy was blessedly skilled with her small pliers, neatly clipping off the end of each quill before carefully pulling it from Dean's skin and depositing both in a shallow dish she had brought in. Sam found himself moving slowly, methodically, as he followed her movements with a small cloth soaked in hot water and rubbing alcohol to clear away blood and to sterilize each tiny mar. His vision had remained clear so far, though he wasn't pushing his luck, and he wondered if that was why Dean had succumbed so easily to unconsciousness. He himself was fighting the strong urge to just close his eyes and sleep for as long as was possible. Later, he knew, he would have to do extensive research. Find out just what they were up against with this poison, and what the chances were of- He stopped himself there, refusing to think of any possible outcome besides Dean springing back from this like he normally did. It took a lot to take him out, Sam knew this from experience, and even when he was down for the count it was never long before he was bitching profusely about everything from wanting 'real' food, to having to take _another _piss.

As Sam watched Mandy's hands work diligently and carefully, he realized that he couldn't remember the last time someone other than him or Dean had offered such care to them. He eyed her dubiously for a moment, reminding himself that the holy water had had absolutely no effect. Still…

"You can stop looking at me like that." Mandy's low voice startled him a little, and he blinked to find her casting him a mildly amused glance. "I'm really honestly just helping. I promise I have no ulterior motives."

"Not even like getting in his pants?" Sam blurted out with a smirk, nodding his head towards Dean.

She let out a surprised hoot of laughter, and Sam belatedly realized exactly what he'd just said.

"Oh, god, no," he stammered, his face flushing. "I didn't mean-"

"Good grief, Sam," she told him, still chuckling a little. "I promise the thought never even occurred to me."

Sam didn't speak for a long moment, and then finally flashed an embarrassed grin, his dimples making a swift appearance. "Sorry," he said simply. "Most women we meet are helpful in a whole different manner… Not that _Dean_ minds," he added under his breath.

Mandy just let out another soft laugh, and returned to the task at hand. "I hear you," she said a little distractedly, setting the pliers aside for a moment and gently shifting Dean's arm out of her way. "I've dealt with much of the same in my time, believe me."

"Overly helpful women?" Sam asked with a slight chuckle.

"Men," she clarified, still smiling. "Definitely men."

For a few minutes the only sound was the gentle clipping of the pliers, and though Mandy's mind was crawling with questions, she suspected that Sam's cagey nature wasn't going to change much any time soon. She half turned to him, intending to start at least some sort of small talk, but the words faded in her throat when she saw him.

He was doing an admirable job at appearing unruffled, but he had closed his eyes and it didn't escape her notice that he had casually reached out and looped several long fingers under Dean's belt, gripping the leather so tightly that his knuckles showed white through the coating of dried blood.

"Sam?" She said softly, and when he didn't answer she tentatively reached out and laid a hand on his broad, bowed shoulder. Instinct caused him to flinch away from her touch, and he let out a small, sort of strangled gasp that she immediately recognized as a sign that he was struggling to breathe.

"Sam!" She tried again more forcefully, and it seemed to startle him into awareness.

"'M'fine," he murmured, his voice constricted. "Just… can't see very well…"

She watched him squeeze his eyes even tighter and almost subconsciously shift closer to his brother, and realization hit her like a sack of rocks.

"It got you too, didn't it?" She snapped, suddenly furious that he hadn't told her. "Is your vision gone? You feel like crap? Insides thinkin' they wanna make an appearance? Come here, _now_, and let me see how many you've got in your own hide." She applied pressure to his shoulder, trying to at least get him to turn her way, but he wrenched away and his eyes flew open, only to slam shut again against the darkness that was obviously still there.

"No, dammit!" He rasped. "Dean first."

"No," she countered firmly. "You won't be able to help him worth a damn if you're like this, and if he starts having another fit the effort you'll have to put out to hold him will only drain every last bit of the poison into you, if it hasn't already." She watched him lean closer to Dean, set his mouth in a hard line, and she tried a softer tactic. "Let me help you, Sam," she said, voice low and steady. "And then we can both help Dean, and the two of you can sleep this off for a freaking _week_ if you have to."

He didn't move or respond, but she saw a slight tremor move through him, and she decided to take it as a good sign. Reaching up, she pried his stiff fingers off of Dean's belt, choosing not to dwell on how it felt when the back of her hand brushed the soft, fevered skin just under Dean's navel. She spread her palm out on Sam's chest, her other hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, and firmly maneuvered him so he was sitting on the floor, his knees sticking up at awkward angles.

"I need you to take your shirt off," she told him, and then started to unbutton it. "At least the outer one, and if you lay back you'll be able to breathe better." He let her help him out of his flannel shirt, his eyes still tightly shut and his breath coming in ragged gasps, before collapsing back on the floor, his broad chest rapidly expanding and contracting under the clinging material of his t-shirt as he struggled to pull in enough air.

"Try to keep calm, Sam," she told him quietly as she knelt next to his head and started looking him over. He allowed her to comb his sweaty hair back from the sides of his face and neck with her fingers, and just as she located the small grouping of quills in his hairline, his chest constricted unbearably, completely cutting of his air supply.

Mandy yanked his clutching hands away from his throat, and pressed both heels of her hands hard on the center of his chest. She compressed once, and then left them there, pushing hard enough to leave a bruise. "Breathe, dammit!" She almost shouted, compressing again. "If it's this bad for you, do you really think you're brother's any better off?"

It was a cruel thing to say and she knew it, but she was at a loss and it seemed to have the desired effect. Reflex lurched Sam up off the floor, throwing her back a little, and she watched with wide eyes as he finally drew in a long, ragged breath, letting it out in a bout of choking, explosive coughing between his knees. She let him breathe and blink for a few moments, his vision presumably back, and then grabbed the pliers and knelt behind him, pressing her hip and side against his back for support.

"Just let me get these out…" she told him as she carefully swept his hair to one side, exposing the half dozen quills in the back of his neck. Sticky, half-dried blood coated the area and some of his hair, and she soon realized it was because several of the quills had pierced completely through the skin, their barbed ends visible as well. A tiny measure of relief coursed through her as she told Sam, putting special emphasis on the fact that only half of the quills had managed to inject him with their poison. She made short work of them, and quickly wiped the area down with the alcohol soaked cloth, resolving to make Sam make use of her shower later.

"Where else?" She asked over the sound of his still slightly strained breathing. He leaned heavily back against her and pulled the hem of his t-shirt up, exposing his right side and the dozen or so quills clustered in the well-muscled area just above the waistband of his jeans. She leaned into him, putting her chin over his shoulder, again noticing how absurdly tall he was, and reaching her arms around either side of him to reach the area. As she clipped the end of each quill, she could feel his elevated body temperature leaching through his sweat-soaked shirt, and when his ragged breath ruffled her bangs a little, she caught the faintly mingled scents of peppermint and coffee.

"It'll be okay, Sam," she found herself saying softly. "I promise I'll do everything I can."

His breath caught in his throat a little, and after a moment he spoke, one word rasping out, strangely riddled with emotion. "Why?"

She let the hem of his shirt fall back down, and helped him sit up and turn to face her. She suspected his hazel eyes were dangerously close to spilling over, so she simply gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment and then turned back to Dean. "Because that's what I do," she told him. "I help people."

Dean was still, his breath shallow and light, and his face was pale, making delicate shadows grow under his eyes. He seemed stable when Mandy continued her care, and she pushed down the idea that it was because he had slipped into a coma. There had been something in Sam's eyes- buried not quite deep enough beneath the rich hazel to hide from her- that broke her heart into pieces for him. Having dealt with hunters for as long as she could remember, and being fully submerged in the life herself, she recognized that somehow empty look of loss, grief, and desperation all rolled into one. _This boy,_ she thought, and then almost laughed at herself, considering he had to be at least her age, maybe older. _This boy has lost too much for anything to happen to ass… Dean now. _And she promised herself that Dean would be alright.

Five minutes later, she had halfway convinced herself that he would be, just in time to look up and realize, with a stomach-dropping jolt, that his mouth had a distinctly blue tinge to it.

_Oh my god, he's not breathing. _A strange numbness seized her hands and she dropped the pliers. They landed in the bowl of spent quills with a resounding _clang_ and Sam was instantly by her side, his breath still coming in short gasps, and his hair starting to drip sweat into his eyes as he placed two of his long, trembling fingers under Dean's jawline.

"Pulse?" Mandy choked out, unable to drag her eyes away from those pale, full lips. "He's not breathing."

"No pulse. CPR, now," Sam rasped, surging to his feet and rounding the foot of the bed. "I'll do compressions, you breathe for him."

She was frozen, hundreds of memories of situations just like this that had ended in a nightmare crowding her mind, making it seize up. Sam, on the other hand, had been jolted with a newfound energy that was only brought on by his older brother being in danger. He could tear down stone walls; commit unimaginable horrors, if it only meant that Dean was okay. And he would, every day if he had to. "Mandy, _now_!" He barked harshly, linking his hands and settling them over Dean's blood-streaked chest. "I can't breathe right now, or I would do it myself!"

The desperation laced through his ravaged voice cut straight to her heart, and she obeyed, tilting Dean's head back and sealing her mouth over his.

She breathed once, twice, for him. Sat back and watched Sam lock his muscle-corded arms and compress.

She breathed for him again, hearing Sam struggle to draw his own breath in. More compressions. More breathing.

Dean tasted like salt, cinnamon toothpaste, and Jack Daniels.

Still nothing. Sam's breath came in strangled gasps now, his arms trembling as his emotions spilled over.

Mandy could feel a cold, aching tremble start low in her stomach as she breathed for Dean again. And again.

She could hear Sam crying, not caring as he slammed Dean's chest over and over in a desperate attempt to force life back into him, and she knew she was crying as well, though her face was too numb to feel the tears that tracked down it.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

*I^I*

Ah! So sorry for the cliff-hanger! I could have made it longer, but have to run. Until next time! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**There is no possible way I can hope to apologize for how late this chapter is, except to say that between this chapter and the last I've dealt with:  
1)a new, physically taxing, everyday real job.  
2) a dental surgeon appointment to find out why my mouth hurt so bad that I literally couldn't eat for a few days.  
3)the prospect of my wisdom teeth all being taken out (and I have dental work anxiety)  
4)and the realization that I have been struggling with very mild depression for the past six months (but God flipped me around 180 degrees and everything is beautiful and hopeful and alright again!) **

**... so just know that I am SO SORRY to keep my readers waiting, and I want y'all to know that every single review/fav/follow etc. absolutely sends me over the moon every time. Like, every time. I freak out and flail a lot and have to cover my mouth to muffle the squealing sounds that want to burst forth. I love you all so much.**

**So here's chapter 3 for you. I hope you enjoy! It's got plenty of Sam action, not so much Dean, but I suspect he'll demand to be heard from in chapter 4... ;) As far as the poison taking it's course through the boys- let's just say the party's just getting started. *evil maniacal laugh that may or may not be inspired by Jensen's***

**ALSO: If anyone has any feedback they'd like to share on my OC, I would LOVE it. Just sayin :)**

_Mandy could feel a cold, aching tremble start low in her stomach as she breathed for Dean again. And again._

_She could hear Sam crying, not caring as he slammed Dean's chest over and over in a desperate attempt to force life back into him, and she knew she was crying as well, though her face was too numb to feel the tears that tracked down it. _

_Nothing.  
Nothing._

_Nothing. _

And then, _then,_ just when Mandy had decided the only thing she could do was leave the room and break as many things as she could lay her hands on, Dean breathed.

Well, sort of. His body bucked upwards under Sam's hands, and he half drew a breath in, though it seemed to catch in his throat. Tears blurred Sam's vision almost to the point of blindness, but he reacted quickly, reaching across Dean to grip his shoulder and lever him upright. He steadied his brother's head with one fairly massive hand, and as soon as he sat him up Dean lurched and vomited all over his jeans, the bed between his knees, and Sam's arm. Tears leaked from under his dark lashes as he fought to breathe, but Sam's hand on the back of his neck kept him steady and a few moments later he was able to draw in a full breath.

"Oh _god_…" he moaned as soon as he had enough air to talk. "What's happening?" The deep rasp of his voice automatically gave Sam's a lighter edge, and Mandy swallowed down a sob as Sam's dimples made another appearance.

"You're _alive_ is what's happening, you jerk," he choked, blinking tears from his eyes and for just a moment giving in to the urge to bury his face in the crook of Dean's neck.

"Ah, get off, bitch," Dean chuckled through the pain coloring his voice. "You're gonna make me ralph again…"

"Don't," Sam said quickly, putting some distance between them but keeping his hand on the back of Dean's head. "At least, not on me this time."

Dean started to laugh again, but pain contorted his dirt-streaked features and before he knew it, he was throwing up again, agony lancing through him as he gagged between his knees. "This… sucks…" he panted, subconsciously reaching up and gripping a handful of the front of Sam's t-shirt. "Think I'm… gonna… pass out…"

"Okay, okay," Sam muttered. "Just… let's get you lying back down. Just keep breathing, okay? Okay, Dean?"

"M'kay…" Dean answered softly, allowing Sam to carefully lean him back so he was lying flat again, his eyes remaining closed. "Who's here?" He suddenly asked, his hand still firmly grasping his little brother's shirt.

"Someone who's going to help," Sam said simply, and watched as Dean allowed unconsciousness to overtake him once more. The very essence of that gesture was trust, pure and simple, and it cut straight to his heart. At this moment, Dean trusted him completely, or at least enough to make things okay again, and Sam almost couldn't believe it. He looked up, across Dean, and his gaze was met with large, glistening eyes.

"I thought he was gone," Mandy whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

Sam shook his head, abruptly cutting her off. "Shut up," he said a little gruffly. "He would be if it wasn't for you, so… just shut up."

"Okay," she gulped. "Okay." She busied herself with the bowl of clipped spines, avoiding his gaze for a few moments. "They're all out," she finally blurted. "I- I'll get more towels, and you can… take care of him…"

Without a word, Sam pushed himself to his feet, rounded the end of the bed and pulled her up off the floor, enfolding her in a crushing hug. She let out one muffled sob into his chest, and when he let her go a moment later she was composed, the tear tracks drying on her face. She offered him a shaky smile, and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Take care of your brother," she told him, her voice a little husky. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

"Thank you," Sam replied simply, and she knew what he meant.

"I won't say 'you're welcome' yet," she said, and fairly fled the room.

The tide of emotions plaguing Sam seemed to return from its ebb and was flowing over again, so he let himself sink to his knees beside the bed once more, grasping Dean's wrist gently and resting his forehead on the fevered shoulder as hot tears ran freely. Somewhere in his mind a logical voice was telling him that crying would probably only help rid his body of the toxins faster, but he still wished he would stop. It was only exhausting him, body and mind. The shock of almost losing Dean again was only just hitting him now, he knew, but he had to pull himself together and be strong. And also there was vomit on his arm. He had sort of forgotten that.

Thirty minutes later, Mandy stood at her stove, a bottle of brandy held loosely in her hand, listening to Sam be sick in her bathroom. A saucepan of coffee from that morning was just coming to a gentle simmer, and she watched it numbly, vaguely considering forgoing the coffee and just sticking to the brandy. Both, she finally decided, switching the stove off and grabbing two earthenware mugs from a cabinet by the sink. She left the coffee to keep warm on the burner, and somewhat wearily crossed the living room and stepped into the hall, coming to a stop just outside the closed bathroom door.

A low, keening sound -closer to a moan than anything- emerged, and with the thought of '_screw privacy and dignity'_ she eased the door open and slipped inside. Inwardly she cringed at the sight of a man like Sam humbled to the floor of her tiny bathroom, but she ignored that and stepped over his feet, pulling a washcloth from a drawer and running the cold water over it. She stepped up beside him, noticing the persistent tremble moving through him, and arranged the cloth over the back of his neck, allowing rivulets of cool water to find their way down the sides of his face. His hair was practically dripping sweat, obscuring much of his face, and he had both arms held tightly across his stomach as he heaved again, bringing up nothing but spit and stinging bile.

"This," he croaked, and then spat. "This is approximately four times worse than every hangover I've ever had. _Combined._"

"That bad, huh?" Mandy sat back against the counter and ran a hand down her face, trying hard to quell her natural tendencies to be a sympathetic vomiter. "Just let it all out," she murmured. "You'll feel better soon."

"There's nothing _to _let out," Sam protested in a moan. "All I had today was coffee. And… oh _god_ _no_, I can't see again." His breath was starting to short out again, making him gasp. His gag reflex kicked in then, and he dry-heaved violently, one shaking hand coming up to brace against the porcelain as his whole body curled in on itself with its efforts to expel the poison from his system. Mandy dropped to her knees beside him, one hand resting on his back, the other smoothing his sweat-slicked hair back, empathy making her eyes sting as she wished desperately there were something she could do. Sam gagged repeatedly, his face scarlet and veins standing out in his neck as he tried to force a breath in past the incessant dry-heaves. His vision was still gone, and he vaguely tasted iron in the back of his throat. This was it then. Pretty soon he was going to start throwing up blood, and it would be a messy, agonizing, pitiful death on the floor of some strange girl's bathroom, and hours later his brother would wake to the same fate. Awesome, as Dean would have said. Just… awesome.

Just when he thought he was going to pass out from lack of air, he realized that if he could get through this, then he could force Dean to get through it too, because there was no way Dean was going to let something like poison keep him from being there for Sam. He tuned everything out, Mandy's voice begging him to breathe, his own choking sounds, and focused on one thought and one thought only. His brother. Stupid, arrogant, rude, bossy, Dean Winchester.

Dean was his reason for living. The literal reason he was even alive on multiple accounts; the savior of multitudes, technically.

And right now the savior of multitudes was lying in the other room on a stranger's bed, barely breathing his way through unconsciousness while his little brother was dying on a bathroom floor. Again, awesome.

The next thing Sam was aware of was coming to, a little suddenly, sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the too small bathroom, his head resting on something somewhat softer than the floor. He tested his breathing first, relief flooding him when a breath slid fairly easily down his throat, and then he forced his eyes open, squinting them against the sudden brilliant onslaught against his retinas. Vision back then, that was good. A face came slowly into focus then, pale and pinched with concern. _Too soft to be Dean_, Sam registered blearily. Dean was all fine features and sarcastic angles, except for when he smiled and the crow's feet around his eyes belied the pain underneath. No, this face wasn't Dean's, and the legs his head was laid on were _definitely_ not his brother's. "_Mmm…_" he said, intending for it to be much more than that.

"I'm starting to sort of hate you and your brother," a low voice answered him, subdued with anxiety. Small hands that were warm and dry found his temples, pushing sweaty hair back and smoothing the short, mussed hairs of his sideburns. "I mean, I've only known you for a few hours and already both of you have almost died on me. In my _house_, no less. Do you have any idea how that would make me feel?"

"Sorry…" Sam managed to push out past the tightness in his throat. He forced his eyes to stay open, gradually adjusting them to the light. No way was he going to willingly descend into darkness. "I think-" he coughed weakly, trying not to start gagging, and tried again. "I think we might be dead if not for you."

"Damn straight," Mandy gulped, looking up and away to hide the shining in her eyes. "And don't you forget it."

In the following silence Sam shifted slightly, turning his head on her lap and feeling a warm blush creep up his neck when his nose bumped what he soon realized was her belt buckle. With an ill-concealed groan he heaved himself up, ignoring her protests and attempts to help, until eventually he was lurched over the counter, muscle-corded arms trembling in their effort to keep him braced as he spat into the sink. "I have to be with Dean," he murmured after a moment. "Have to…" his thoughts were thoroughly scrambled, and all he could think was that he had to make sure Dean was okay, but he didn't even know how. With adrenaline born from frustration, he slammed a fist into the countertop and pushed himself to his full height. When he turned, Mandy was hovering nervously behind him, her eyes earnestly raised to his. "Don't try and stop me," he warned her, surging past her and out the door. She followed numbly, watching him slam into her walls all the way, his wide shoulders determinedly squared.

He made it to the spare bedroom still on his feet, and Mandy fell back just outside the door, fairly lurking in the shadows. Sam half fell onto the bed, shuffling his brother's legs to the side so he could wearily sit at the end, Dean's face in his direct line of vision. He had somehow wrestled his brother out of his boots and blood-soaked jeans, and he was now practically cocooned under blankets that Sam must have pulled from the linen cabinet. _"Makin' himself right at home already,"_ she thought warmly to herself, and turned to go back to the kitchen, leaving the brothers to themselves.

Dean appeared to be sleeping, though his breathing was tainted with an underlying rattle. Sam quickly noticed it, and leaned towards Dean, eyes cast down, listening. "That does not sound good," he told his brother quietly. "But you'll be glad to know it doesn't sound as bad as that time you got that cough because you were French kissing with that waitress up in Maine." He chuckled softly then, and cast Dean a glance somewhere between fond and anxious. "She _was_ pretty cute though," he admitted, "and I always wanted to give you shit about that and say that you only liked her because her eyes were the same color as mine, but you were so friggin' sick that I just would've felt like a jerk. And that's your job," he added under his breath, reaching forward and laying his hand on that little spot beneath Dean's chest, but above his stomach. "It's your job to be a jerky, ass-hat, older brother, so snap out of it and do your job."

Dean's only answer was a small gurgling sound in the back of his throat and a shiver that was verging on violent.

Sam had his laptop out of his duffel bag and starting up before he even stopped to wonder if Mandy had any internet.

**Well that wasn't such a bad cliffhanger now, was it? ;) I haven't started chapter 4 yet, but hopefully I shall get it churned out soon, because this storyline just won't quit banging around in my brain until it's written, and I already have so many other ideas for more stories and one-shots!  
Until next time,**

**Cheers!**


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